The Bigger, The Better
by Destial
Summary: Dean remembers every little thing about Sam and that's sort of the problem, because he can't remember when the hell Sammy got so damn big.


**Title:** The Bigger, The Better  
**Author:** **destial**  
**Pairing:** Sam/Dean  
**Rating:** Hard R  
**Warnings:** Dean has a kink. Sam does too.  
**Spoilers:** Well, characterization is from season 4ish, but no real spoilers.  
**Word Count:** 1407  
**Notes/Prompt(s):** So I've had this kink bouncing around in my head and then I watched an episode and Sam practically begged me to write this fic.  
**Summary:** _Dean remembers every _little_ thing about Sam and that's sort of the problem, because he can't remember when the hell Sammy got so damn big._

* * *

**The Bigger, The Better**

Dean remembers those months mom spent carrying around little Sammy in her belly and he remembers that first time he got to hold him, in the hospital mere hours after he was born, curled up beside mom on her bed. He remembers how incredibly small and delicate Sammy was.

Dean remembers the week or so after mom died, every night crawling into Sammy's crib to curl around him, protect him from the bad thing that took mom. It got to the point where he'd have nightmares if he was forced to sleep alone and Sam just couldn't sleep without him; they had spent years sharing a bed after that, with Dean always wrapping himself around his little brother.

He remembers Sammy's first steps and his tiny little hand in Dean's the first time he walked his baby brother to a playground, dad lagging behind.

Dean remembers every _little_ thing about Sam and that's sort of the problem, because he can't remember when the hell Sammy got so damn big.

He knew, clinically, that Sam had been taller than him for years, like you know that it'll hurt to slam your hand in a car door. You just don't _realize_ it until it happens, until the knowledge forces itself on you.

When they were young, they would lie in bed together with Dean wrapped around Sam. Now when they're in bed, Sam's the one wrapped around Dean.

It always startles Dean. It's not something he thinks about when they're standing next to each other, questioning witnesses, or when Sam's on the other side of the Impala. He doesn't think about it when they're in a diner eating or going for a run. But it's all he can think about now.

When Sam throws him down on his bed – and Dean may be used to something gentler, slower and sweeter, more about having fun and getting each other off than mindless passion and _taketaketake_, but he sees how hot it gets Sam to manhandle him so he allows it, always allows it – when Sam settles on top of him and cages him in with just his body, it always sends a thrill through Dean because he keeps forgetting.

He'd had his growth spurt the summer between junior and senior year. Just grew a foot and a half, at least, in that short time, finally catching up with Dean. And then he kept going.

It had made all of them uncomfortable at first. It wasn't the natural order of things for a boy to be taller than his big brother _and_ his father. Just wasn't right. And Sam never seemed to know what to do with the near two feet he suddenly had added to him. He was awkward and gangly, kept hitting his elbows and knees. Those things were sharp, too, which Dean had found out for himself when they sparred.

He wasn't awkward now. He'd found confidence in his size and used it now to hold Dean down, to push him deeper into the bed.

He'd gotten broader, too, somewhere along the way. Right after the growth spurt, Dean had felt stocky in comparison. Now he just felt small, because Sam was bigger all around.

But what Dean appreciates the most about Sam's size is his hands. Oh, his hands. He could plant a palm in the middle of Dean's chest and spread his fingers out, and that hand would cover Dean's chest in such an obscene way. And there's power behind those hands, strength that Dean had always known about – from sparring and hunting, it was hard not to know the extent of his brother's strength. But there was something heady about how easily those hands could hold him down and push him into position.

Those hands may just be Dean's favorite part of Sam now. He loves it when those long, thick fingers open him up or when they slide between his teeth to pry him open there too. Sometimes, when he's getting ready for a shower, he'll catch his reflection in the mirror and see huge, hand shaped bruises on his thighs, on his hips. It's insane how far they go, how wide they spread. Sometimes, sometimes seeing that is enough to get Dean hot and ready to go.

He thinks Sam knows this about him. When they're really going at it, like now, when Sam's pushed and pulled until Dean is on his knees and Sam is an unmovable force – _Best of both worlds, Sammy_, Dean thinks deliriously – draped over his back, he thinks that Sam knows. He has to, because he combines that awesome strength with those amazing hands and presses Dean's cheek into the mattress, holding him down and catching his thumb in Dean's mouth.

If Dean's feeling ballsy, too high on endorphins and adrenaline to think straight like now, he'll bite Sam's thumb. Not hard, not to hurt, but enough pressure to go beyond pleasure. Sam's hand spasms a little, flexes into a sprawled clench, pressing into several different points on his face and that could definitely bruise. What he's doing with his other hand, on Dean's upper calf, _that's_ definitely going to bruise.

Sam uses his grip to move Dean's leg, widening his stance. His thrusts are slow, deep and sure, perfectly controlled, and Dean lets his eyes fall shut. If he was on his back, facing Sam, that'd really piss him off. He's got a thing about Dean watching him but sometimes Dean just likes to feel it. Just likes to float in the sensations for awhile. He starts to suck on Sam's thumb to the same rhythm Sam's pounding into him with.

_Slow and steady wins the race_, he thinks and hums in amusement at himself.

"God, Dean." Sam's breath hitches and Dean lets himself feel smug. He'd been breathing in harsh pants for awhile and Dean could never quite shake the urge to throw Sam off his game a bit. "You're making me want your mouth now."

Dean swirls his tongue and rolls his hips at the same time.

Then it's on. Sam's learned how to use his size – his height and weight and width – and he's so damned controlled all the time now. Dean likes to make him lose that, to strip him down to that flailing, desperate kid Dean knows he still is, just with a lot more _oomph_ when he barrels into Dean.

Sam rearranges them, moving the hand on Dean's face to his shoulder and wrenching him up. Dean practically whines, straining to lick and nip at Sam's fingers until they slide into his mouth. Sam uses his grip on Dean's jaw to force his head back onto his shoulder, no space remaining between them. Dean moans and sucks hard.

His other hand is plastered low on Dean's stomach, helping Dean brace against his thrusts. He's not touching Dean but Dean doesn't need him to when he's got those fingers in his mouth and that cock in his ass.

_Monster cock_, Dean had nicknamed it and at first Sam would get embarrassed, sheepish and defensive – _"It's proportional, Dean."_ – but now he just smirks and lets his legs fall wide. Dean doesn't know when that happened either.

He wants to kiss Sam suddenly, with a fierceness that surprises him. It's not going to happen though. Sam's too far gone to go back to what he considers foreplay; they've moved into that "no turning back" place. Can't put a pause on things because Dean's a little overwhelmed and like hell Dean would admit to that in the first place.

Sam's thumb sweeps through Dean's bellybutton and surprises Dean so much he jerks and keens and that's it for him. Sam isn't far behind and then Dean's face down on the bed again, with a couple hundred pounds of dead weight baring him down.

"Oh my god," Dean grits out. "Dude, off."

"Shut up," Sam counters. He resituates himself – makes _himself_ more comfortable, the dick – and huffs a breath between Dean's shoulder blades. "You can take it."

"You're such a bitch."

"You're the bitch-" Sam breaks off into a yawn and stretches, arching off Dean's back for a moment. Dean makes the mistake of taking a deep breath only to have it forced out of him with a rough noise when Sam drops back down. Sam laughs – he probably planned that – as he finishes with, "jerk."

"You're too big for this, Sammy."

"Oh, you love it. Now leave me alone and go to sleep."

And, God help him, he does.


End file.
